Linda: Good morning. Are you Ken Jacobson?
Ken: Yes, I am.
Linda: I’m not sure if you’ll remember me.
Ken: (stands) You look very familiar. Oh, my gosh – Mrs. Wilkens!
Linda: That’s right. Only, please, call me Linda.
Ken: I haven’t seen you since I was a kid! How many years has it been?
Linda: I don’t think we want to go into that.
Ken: (Laughing) I guess you’re right. Here, sit down. It’s so good to see you, but how did you find me?
Linda: Oh, you’re a very famous person now and this is a small town. I just asked at the local gas station and they were able to tell me where you lived without any trouble.
Ken: So are you here on vacation?
Linda: No. I came to see you.
Ken: You did? May I ask why?
Linda: I’ve read a few of your books and they’re very good. I wanted to tell you that firsthand. The last book of yours that I read was called Stewardship.
Ken: Ah, I see.
Linda: I thought you might.
Ken: You were in that book: as a matter of fact you might say that you ARE that book, or at least the first chapter.
Linda: Yes, I did see myself in there. Even after all these years it was like it happened yesterday.
Ken: I know what you mean. I was all of 10 years old at the time, and even to me it seems like yesterday. Of course you know how sorry I am that the whole thing happened.
Linda: I know that now. That’s why I’m here. At the time I just couldn’t seem to bring myself to talk to you about it. I suppose I was just too upset. As time went by I think you and I just avoided each other, although I did get your apology in the mail.
Ken: Yes, that was one note my mother didn’t have to coerce me to write.
Linda: I’m glad to know that. I’m also glad to know how it affected your life.
Ken: It certainly did.
Linda: Tell me what happened.
Ken: Well, as you know, you asked my mother if you could hire me to take care of your prize-winning roses while you were away. I was so thrilled to have a job that actually paid money.
Linda: At ten years old that is a thrill.
Ken: The first day I started out to water them and one of my buddies asked me to go fishing with him, so I thought I’d just water the plants later. Of course, I forgot but still I thought it’s only one day; I’ll go tomorrow.
Linda: Of course you had no inkling of how delicate they were.
Ken: You had tried to tell me but I was just a kid. Anyway, the
next day I set out for your house and all the other kids were heading to
the ball field so I figured I’d play ball and then go to your house later.
Linda: Only later never came.
Ken: You’ve got it. When I got home that night my mother asked me about the roses. I told her a half-truth. I said that was the first thing I set out to do that morning.
Linda: Which was true except that you never made it to my house.
Ken: That’s right. Anyway everyday kept going like that. It was summer and there were a million things to do that were more interesting than taking care of some rosebushes.
Linda: But you did go over at some point. It must have been shortly before I came home.
Ken: Very shortly! I probably just missed you! When I did finally get over there it had been 2 weeks with no water for those rosebushes. You know what they looked like.
Linda: I sure do.
Ken: I couldn’t believe it. They looked very dead to me but I hoped if I just poured some water on them either they would come back to life or you’d think something else had killed them other than my negligence.
Linda: Of course when I saw them I knew you hadn’t watered them until very recently.
Ken: When you came over to tell my mother I saw you walking up the driveway with tears streaming down your face. I ran out the back door and out to the fields. I couldn’t face you like that.
Linda: Your poor mother. She felt so bad. She told me how she had asked you if you had done your job. You must have always led her to believe you’d done what you said you’d do.
Ken: It wasn’t always easy. I don’t think I ever actually lied to her, but half-truths can be extremely misleading if you practice what you’re going to say.
Linda: Well, at least you learned from it, and so did I.
Ken: You did?
Linda: Certainly. I learned never to hire a 10-year-old child to take care of something so precious.
Ken: (Laughing) You have a point there. That episode was the beginning of my education on stewardship. I learned that if you don’t care for what’s important to someone else you may never have very much that’s important to yourself.
Linda: I read that in your book and it’s a good point. I learned something else from that painful incident though.
Ken: What’s that?
Linda: Those rosebushes had become like children to me. My whole life seemed to center around them and their well being. Once they were dead and gone I found out that life, even my life, still went on. I could have replaced them, but I never did.
Ken: Why not?
Linda: I discovered that I’d been spending so much time on them that people I had been helping before I got them were now in need because of my lack of time and attention.
Ken: I see.
Linda: Do you remember Mrs. Sanderson who lived next door to me?
Ken: Yes, I do. She was in a wheelchair, wasn’t she?
Linda: That’s right and I had always done her yard work until that summer. When I got my roses I didn’t have time for her yard too. On my way home from seeing your mother I noticed how some of her plants were dying for lack of water and attention. The very thing I was so upset at you for I was also guilty of doing to someone else.
Ken: Wow, that must have hurt. It was kind of like pouring salt into an open wound.
Linda: At first that was true, but as I adjusted my priorities I seemed to heal something inside of me that I hadn’t even known was hurting until that day.
Ken: So you learned about stewardship.
Linda: I guess I did but until I read your book I didn’t know that was the lesson I had learned. So I’m here to thank you, not just for your book but also for the life lesson you inadvertently helped me to learn.
Ken: Thank you, Mrs. Wilkens, I mean Linda. It means a lot to me to hear you say that. And may I give you a little something to remember me by? (Hands her a rose, which had been hidden in a bouquet of other flowers.)
Lights out.
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Copyright John & Joanne Miller, all rights reserved.
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